Gunpowder & Lead
by MoonlitDesertDreams
Summary: "Sometimes even a cowboy's gotta swallow his pride to hold on to somebody he loves"- A collection of shorts revolving around an outlaw's love, life, and potential happiness (Arthur/OC)
1. Chapter 1- Knights in Shining Armor

_Hi everyone! This is sort of a different thing for me, so just bear with me. I started playing Red Dead II and I am absolutely_ __ _in love_ _with Arthur Morgan. I was inspired by his loneliness (yeah, screw Mary - sorry not sorry) to write something with an OC who could give Mr. Morgan some love. After listening to his dialogue with Mary, I could only picture Arthur with someone (in a romantic way) who was just as fierce, and could be as rowdy as the rest of the gang. Sooooo my brain child Myra Alvron appeared. She's sassy, not super classy, but definitely bad-ass(y)? ANYWAY- she is my complete opposite (someone please teach me how to be an extrovert), and it was tough nail down exactly how I'd want to write her. It's also difficult to not make modern-sounding jokes, so I apologize in advance if there are any time-relative mistakes._

 _ **Onto the format:**_ _this is not a chapter-by-chapter story (unless at some point I decide to write up a backstory). It is a collection of drabbles/ one-shots about Arthur and my OC Myra being happy cow-people in 1899. Nothing necessarily takes place at a certain point in the gameplay, but I'll definitely reference location and might write Myra into one or two random side-quests. Most of these will be fluffy and happy (Arthur deserves it) about their actual relationship, and some will explore Myra's relationship with other members of Van der Linde Gang._

 _If you like, fave/follow, if not please don't be rude! I just have random thoughts and they come out as little stories like these. If you enjoy, let me know! It only takes one second out of your day to completely make mine! 3_

 _P.S. - I'll try to put a little note/quote/reference/etc next to the chapter to give you an idea about the theme/moral/etc._

 ** _-LunaRoo_**

* * *

 **Chapter 1** **\- Knights in Shining Armor**

Arthur Morgan was not a man for fairytales. The over-exaggerated princesses, and the knights in shining armor was all a bit much for him.

"Who in their right mind would wanna ride a horse with armor? It'd jus' slow you down."

Arthur was critical to a fault when it came to stories whose titles outright detailed its falsity.

"Oh, stop it you. It's a fairytale, not an autobiography!" Laughter which was nothing short of music to his ears rang out after the comeback. Nimble fingers carded through his hair once more, and the outlaw could do little more than sigh at the sensation.

Oh yes, Arthur might have held a certain abhorrence for fairytales. But he sure as shit was a sucker for a western romance.

"I ain't one for fairytales, Myra." He grunted, lazily opening his eyes to look at the woman above him.

They were perched high up on a rocky outcrop overlooking Moonstone Pond. The weather was gorgeous, and Myra had thought lunch would be better as a picnic than on the road. The blonde whom Arthur had found himself hopelessly enamored with sat with her back against a large Cottonwood, legs outstretched beneath the skirt she wore. He was lying perpendicular to her on his back, head resting on her thighs as she read aloud from a book she swiped from Lenny.

"Well, apparently Lenny is. I got this book from him last night." Myra tugged on her skirt near Arthur's left shoulder, "I hate this thing."

"I know you do. But we're tryin' to keep suspicion down, so you bein' all dolled up is the best way to go about it." Arthur heaved himself up to sit beside her. Myra cracked a smile and leaned against his shoulder.

"I suppose. Actin' the newlywed part ain't so bad neither." She traced a finger up Arthur's bicep as she spoke. Lenny's book had been discarded beside her, blue cover facing up.

"It works. Keeps most of the trouble away at least." Arthur muttered. "'Specially in this town full of god damn fools."

Myra smirked up at him. She knew how much wandering eyes got under Arthur's skin. Hell, they got underneath hers. There was nothing as disconcerting as a drunken man stumbling towards one with a pistol strapped to their belt. Who was to say they wouldn't get mad and blow her brains out because she rejected them? She was content enough when Arthur was with her regardless- merely his size was normally enough to intimidate folk- but he was not one for open displays of affection, and he was not always at her side to dissuade people. Myra sometimes detested his protectiveness, stating that she could take care of herself just dandy. Other times though, it was just funny to see Arthur rough-up a man who thought she was more property than person.

Despite Myra's hatred for skirts, playing the part of a newlywed couple allowed the pair to charm Valentine's residents. Sometimes enough to pick-pocket when she wanted, and not warrant any suspicion. Turns out, the livestock town was full of drifters and passersby, which meant the saloon was normally a different crowd every night. No one was around enough, aside from the bartender and few frequent patrons, or sober enough to notice Myra's act.

"Fools is right. I reckon I made damn near a hundred dollars already on drunken idiots." Myra rested her head on Arthur's shoulder.

"That's my girl. You put in the camp's share lately?" Arthur asked.

Myra snorted. "'Course I have. Last night. Though I think I'm the only one, you know. Charles brings back most'a the food, so he shouldn't have to. All the others don't seem too concerned."

"That is why we get to make most of the decisions, darlin'."Arthur chuckled, using the tree trunk to haul himself onto his feet. He held a hand out to Myra. "'Bout ready?"

Myra dusted off her god-forsaken skirt once she was on her feet. "Yes. We oughta get back 'fore them fools in town realize what happened."

Arthur wrapped an arm around Myra's shoulders, drawing her close to his side. "Honey, you're so damn pretty ain't no one gonna suspect nothin'."

Myra giggled, pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek and untangling herself from his grasp. "I'ma get the horses."

Arthur smiled after her, rubbing a hand over his growing beard. He needed a shave, but they had been too busy as of late to do much besides sleep when they got back to camp. Crouching back down, Arthur grabbed the book Myra had been reading and her small blanket. He was whistling softly to himself when the feeling of cold steel pressed to the nape of his neck.

"Don't move."

The sound of a pistol cocking made Arthur freeze. His eyes darted around for Myra, but she must have still been with the horses. She always did like to pamper them too much.

"Now jus' slow down a minute." Arthur started, putting his hands up in a gesture of surrender.

"How's about you just give me whatever you got in that bag and I'll let you live." His assailant talked a big talk, but his voice quivered. After years in the life, Arthur was good at gauging his enemy's confidence.

Arthur turned his head, the brim of his hat brushing the barrel of the gun. "Listen, kid. You don't wanna do this."

"For God's sake, J! Get a move on!" Another voice came from behind the man holding him at gunpoint. So there were two.

"Come on! Give me whatever you got!" The kid jabbed Arthur's neck with his pistol. "Now!"

"'Fraid that ain't gonna happen today, darlin'."

Arthur huffed a laugh at Myra's sweet voice threatening the men. He turned enough to see her strolling from the trees, leaves stuck in her wild blonde hair and skirt riding up her ankles after running.

"This really ain't the place for a pretty lady like you. Why don't you keep movin' 'fore I take you as part of the pay, hm?" That was the ringleader's voice. His words ignited a fury inside Arthur, but he had learned to keep his cool. Myra wouldn't ever let anyone else touch her unless she was right dead. And he knew what Myra kept hidden in the folds of that skirt she hated so much.

"That makes me wanna put a bullet in you even more, you know that?" Myra informed him.

Arthur kept a calm demeanor as she stalled their assailants. If Myra was good at anything, it was bein' one of the scariest women he'd ever have the pleasure of knowing. She was somewhere below Susan Grimshaw, and someplace above Abigail Marston on his scale.

"You got a loud mouth, you know that?" Footsteps indicated the leader walking towards Myra. Once he traipsed into Arthur's field of view, it was evident he was reaching for a gun. Myra must have saw the same thing, because a shot rang out before any more words were spoken. The man behind Arthur let out a squeal of panic, backing away quickly. Arthur lunged to his feet, whipping his own pistol from the holster to aim it at the man. The would-be robber was precariously perched on the cliffside, though he didn't seem to know it. When Arthur cocked his gun, another step back resulted in the man losing his footing. He tripped, eyes going wide as he tumbled over the ledge with a strangled yell.

Arthur rolled his eyes, turning back to the stand-off Myra had been in. He watched the man drop to his knees, clutching a bleeding hole in his side.

"You dumb-" Another shot rang out, and Myra stood above a head with a large hole in it.

"Nasty son of a bitch!" She yelled towards the corpse.

"You alright, My?" Arthur called to her. His voice seemed to catch her attention, and she nodded.

"Yeah. Let's get the hell outta here."

They walked to the horses in a companionable silence until Myra spoke. "You know, for someone who hates fairy tales, it looks like big Arthur Morgan needed a knight in shining armor just now."

"Quiet, woman."


	2. Chapter 2- Burglary and Bonding

_Alrighty, so Chapter/Drabble/One-shot #2. This one revolves more around Myra and other members of the Van der Linde Gang. My plan is to make a little drabble pertaining to her and each of the individual members, so stick around for updates :)_

 ** _-LunaRoo_**

* * *

 **Chapter 2- Burglary and Bonding**

Myra Alvron was a woman of peculiar attitude. She always spoke her mind, no matter the situation. She dressed the part of an outlaw- trousers and everything- and could lie with the best of them. But part of her was compassionate, and Myra understood the gravity of the Van der Linde gang's actions. It was precisely the reason her and Arthur worked so well together after he had plucked her from her boring life on her family's ranch.

Myra's attitude, particularly her aloofness, is what made her a well-liked member of the gang. Everyone aside from Micah (which was unsurprising), and Abigail (that one she didn't understand), got along with her fairly well. She went along with any hair-brained, backwards-ass scheme the boys could come up with. And after said schemes were done, she liked to celebrate just as everyone else did.

After a particularly well-done train robbery, Myra sat around the fire with most of the camp, sans Arthur and Hosea. The former insisted on telling his mentor about how well the job went, allowing Myra to slip off to the campfire for a good time before her and Arthur went to bed. She sat on a short log beside Javier, who had just finished with his third tune for the night. Both Myra and Javier's lyrics were becoming more slurred as the minutes ticked by. Their voices echoed off the rocky faces surrounding Horseshoe Overlook, resulting in a strange harmony.

" _Cielito Lindaa…"_ Myra crooned out of tune, causing both her and Javier to erupt into fits of laughter.

"No, no _Señorita. Cielito Lindo! Not Linda!"_ Javier corrected. Myra looked up at him wide eyes.

"Are you serious?" Myra gaped, clumsily re-braiding her hair.

"Serious." Javier nodded.

"Well I'll be damned. I been singin' this song wrong since I first heard it come outta your mouth!" The blonde rubbed her arms briskly as a cold wind blew by, shifting closer to the fire.

"Gettin' a bit chilly over there, ain't you Mrs. Morgan?" Bill teased from across the fire. Myra barely heard his voice through the hum of conversation around them.

Though Myra and Arthur weren't married, it was a popular joke amongst the gang members. Well, anything they could pick on Arthur about was a big deal, so seeing him sweet on Myra was prime real estate for them.

"Juuust a bit, Billy boy!" Myra looked over her shoulder towards the dark camp. "'Cause I ain't got no one to keep me warm!"

The fire goers snickered at her jab, Arthur's distant chuckle resonating from somewhere in the camp.

"Hey now, _Señorita._ I'm right here." Javier pulled the serape poncho from his shoulders and draped it around Myra.

"Oh, why thank you Mr. Escuella. How gentlemanly." Myra tugged the poncho around her arms, rubbing her hands together beneath the fabric.

"Feel free to come sit by me if you're in need of a little warmth, Myra." Micah's predatory voice came from her right. She turned just enough to face the man who she abhorred most in the camp- and perhaps in the whole state. His wide-brimmed hat shadowed his eyes from the light of the fire, and it was clear he was more soaked than anyone in the group. Perhaps even more than Swanson, and that in itself was a feet.

"Oh, shut up you greasy jackass. I'm surprised to you don't catch fire sittin' that close." Myra grumbled.

"That's enough, you two." Dutch cut in. His eyes lingered on Myra a moment. "Feelin' good tonight, Ms. Alvron?"

"Just great, Mr. Van der Linde." Myra took a swig of the Guarma Rum bottle between her feet. "Just great."

"Good to hear! You all did good today. All you boys stayed in line." Dutch turned to Lenny "You're becomin' quite the outlaw, Mr. Summers."

"Thanks, boss." Lenny's words rose above the rest, and he exchanged a smile with Myra.

"We're headed for great things, people. Great things." Dutch announced, standing from his seat and stretching. "Goodnight. Don't have too much fun."

Bill and Uncle protested Dutch leaving, shouting a few playful insults after his retreating back. Myra joined in, gripping Javier's poncho tighter around her. A hand on her shoulder prompted her to turn, and Myra smiled. Arthur stood behind her, still clad head to toe in black from the robbery.

"I think it's about time you head that way too." He joked. Myra slapped his hand away.

"Nuh uh. You ain't even had a drink yet, Arthur Morgan. Sit down." Myra gestured to the log adjacent to her and Javier's. The Mexican had gone back to strumming his guitar, and everyone was humming the tune. She hooked two fingers through the loops meant for bullets on Arthur's belt and tugged until he sat.

"Here." Myra tossed Arthur the bottle of Guarma Rum. He took a long swig, propping his forearms on his thighs.

"Thanks." As Javier set his guitar back down, Arthur leaned forward to look at him. "Escuella! You tryin' to serenade my girl here?" He threatened the man mockingly.

"I don't know what you talkin' about, _Amigo."_ Javier tossed an arm around Myra's shoulders. "She loves me, really."

Arthur snorted, smiling at Myra's friendship with the other man. "You'd like to think."

"Now, now Mr. Morgan, we all know that I like you the most." Myra pulled out of Javier's grip to close the distance between them and tap a finger against his chest.

"Jesus, no touchin' 'round the fire! Gonna make me sick." Uncle cried. Myra narrowed her eyes challengingly, and the exchange elicited a round of laughter from the group.

"I still think it's sweet after all this time. Two or three years now? Big ol' Arthur Morgan's all sweet on Miss Myra." Mary-Beth said, winking at the latter.

"So when's the weddin'?" John piped up finally, turning his newly scarred face to the pair. Seeming to think a moment, he held up a hand. "You know what? Never mind. Don't get married."

Myra was silent for an awkward beat. Thank the Lord Abigail was not sitting at the fire. "I'll keep that in mind, John."

Lenny proceeded to comment on John's lack of ability to keep a relationship, resulting in a flurry of insults and teases to be flung around the group. At first the dark-haired outlaw was frustrated, but he cooled down and allowed himself to slip into a comfortable rhythm with the others.

"Wow, aren't we getting a bit rowdy out here?" Hosea stepped into the circle, sitting on the other side of Arthur.

"Glad you finally decided to join us, old man!" Karen's high voice called from somewhere around the fire. Myra laughed, turning to look at the eldest leader of the Van der Linde Gang.

"Not for long if you keep on talking like that." Hosea grumbled. Bill let out a sharp laugh, followed by Micah and John.

"Comin' 'round to close the party?" Micah asked.

"Never. Just came to get all your takes on today's job. Everything went well?" Though Arthur had already regaled Hosea with the tale, Myra knew Hosea liked to hear how everyone felt about the group's activities.

"Great. Charles had a good tip and we were right on time." John answered. He paused a moment, looking around. "Where is he, anyway?"

"He was playin' dominoes with Tilly not long ago."

"Probably playin' that harmonica on a cliff somewhere."

The group chattered and cackled until the moon was high above them. Myra yawned and stretched her arms. She took a moment to remove Javier's poncho and place it back on the his shoulders. He was half-asleep, chin resting in the palm of his hand. She turned to look at Arthur, whose legs were outstretched as he talked excitedly with Lenny. The younger man slapped a knee in delight as Arthur finished telling him about some asshole he had robbed after her caught him stalking lone riders.

"And the dumb son of a bitch didn't even hear me!" For some reason Lenny found this hysterical, and Myra raised an eyebrow.

She pushed to her feet, tottering ever so slightly before regaining balance. "Arthur?"

Adjusting his gun belt, Arthur's blue eyes found hers. "Myra?"

"I'm goin' to bed-" She waved to the group "-Night y'all!"

A chorus of the returned sentiment chased after her. Arthur must have stood to follow, because the group's volume began to increase again.

"Goin' to sleep so soon, Morgan?" Uncle was the first one to call out, as per the normal.

And then Micah: "You know he ain't. We all know _exactly_ what's goin' on in that camp."

John joined in the chaos shortly after. "I better not hear anything from that tent!"

Arthur, in his typical fashion, swung around to give the boys a mocking bow at the waist, still walking backwards. Myra rolled her eyes at the hoots and hollers that followed, then at the smirk on Arthur's face.

"You just gotta get 'em riled up, don't you?" Myra asked as they entered their small camp.

"Ain't no sense in tryin' to tell 'em they're wrong." Arthur said. Myra admitted he was right- going along with the group's teasing was less headache than fighting.

She was brought back to reality by Arthur pulling the tie that held their canvas up. It gave Myra a moment of privacy to change into her nightgown and slip under the covers of their decent-sized bed. It originally was one pallet, but Arthur had managed to get another and conjoin them to form their home-made cot.

"Damn, I'm freezin'." Myra muttered. "You would think I'd be warm after tonight."

The tent was plunged into darkness as Arthur put the lantern out. He was suddenly beside her in bed, and Myra turned towards his warmth. She pressed her hands to his chest, sneaking her fingers between the buttons of his union suit.

"Jesus! Your hands are cold." Arthur gripped her hands through the fabric.

"I always forget how cold it gets at night. Least it's better than Colter." Myra shuffled until her back was pressed into Arthur's chest. His arm wound its way around her waist instinctually. "Goodnight."

She felt a huff of breath on her neck. "Nothin' for me before bed?"

"Why, just 'cause all the boys are thinkin' you're getting bedded tonight don't mean you are. I think I've had a bit too much to drink for that." She rolled back to face the cowboy behind her, hands teasingly sliding down his chest.

Arthur could see Myra's eyes gleaming in the dark and snatched her hand before it could travel past his waist. She pushed onto her elbows- reminding Arthur once again of her vertically-challenged status- to press a lingering kiss on the underside of his jaw. Her lips stilled briefly before they moved down, and Arthur felt his breath hitch. She brought her lips back to his quickly, stifling the groan which was working its way to his mouth.

"I thought you were goin' to bed." Arthur hummed against her lips.

"And I thought you wouldn't argue."

Myra's words effectively shut Arthur up, and his hands found their place on her curved hips. Her fingers danced from his shoulders down, brushing against the muscle of his biceps and stomach. Arthur smirked as his hands traced lower, pushing up the hem of Myra's nightgown. His thumb must have brushed something ticklish, as she abruptly let out a fit of giggles that was definitely loud enough for someone to have heard. Myra clapped a hand over her mouth, and Arthur dropped his head to her chest in defeat.

"Dammit you two!"


	3. Chapter 3- Under the Weather

_I'm back :)_

* * *

 **Chapter 3**

Myra had been feeling under the weather for damn near a week when she finally admitted to herself that she was sick. The sweating, the sore throat, the chills. Everything was amounting to a fever, only made worse by her aversion to rest. Myra blamed her sickness on the humidity and stifling heat of a southwestern Lemoyne summer. She would much rather be breathing in the clean mountain air of Ambarino than the swampy mess which was Bayou Nwa.

Though in the end, it was Lemoyne's heat which caused Arthur to notice her ailment. When she shuffled out of their tent with a jacket on over her long-sleeve shirt, he knew something was wrong. It was damn near ninety degrees out. He wasn't one for coddling or dotting, but Myra looked like hell. Arthur left his position beside Dutch and headed towards her. His brows were furrowed in concern, and Myra noticed it immediately.

"Arthur? W-What's wrong?" Myra asked, reaching a small hand out to touch his chin. "Is everything okay?"

"I's gonna ask you the same." Arthur vaguely motioned to her pale face. "You look like shit."

"Ugh. Thanks, Arthur. Really. I appreciate the compliment." Myra snapped at him, tugging the jacket tighter. Arthur ignored her attitude and focused more on her red cheeks and dark eyes.

"You're sick, ain't you?" He ushered her back towards their tent, and could feel the heat as it radiated from her skin. Despite this, Myra was shivering.

"It's this damn weather! I can't breathe worth-" Myra's diatribe was halted by a fit of violent sneezes. Arthur's eyes widened and he held her shoulders gently as if to prevent her from launching into the air. As the sneezes subsided, Myra leaned into his chest tiredly. Arthur couldn't tell if she was fainting or just resting, and he prodded at her cheek.

"My?" Arthur whispered. He tried to hold her at an arm's length to get a look at her face, but she wriggled out of his grasp and back up against his vest.

"No. You're warm." Myra's head only made it to Arthur's shoulders when he wore boots, so she rested it there. Her arms wound around his waist, fingers hooking into his gun belt.

Myra felt his tense muscles for a few seconds before they relaxed. Arthur was not outwardly affectionate. When him and Myra were alone he was more upfront, but in camp he was reserved. Arthur didn't want the boys to have a reason to poke fun at him, and even less so for Myra. They kept the touching to a minimum around the others unless they were dancing or sitting close by.

"C'mon. Why don't you lie down? I'll talk to Mrs. Grimshaw and have her bring you some cool water." Myra's pallor and shakiness was worrying him, but Arthur knew it was not entirely unusual. Hosea tended to be the same way when they moved from place to place with dramatic temperature differences, but his use of Ginseng seemed to soothe his sickness.

Myra's blue eyes looked from Arthur to their cot and she relented, allowing Arthur to lower her down onto the sheets. She sat sideways and Arthur placed his hand back on her shoulder. His thumb gently kneaded the bone and Myra sighed.

"I haven't been feeling good all week." She admitted hoarsely, tired eyes looking somewhere past Arthur as he stood before her.

"You could'a said somethin'. It probably wouldn'ta got this bad." He chastised, brushing two fingers through her curls.

"It's embarrasin'." Myra grumbled, face falling forward to rest against his stomach.

"Hosea's the same way. Let me go get some of his Ginseng crap and see if it helps." Arthur bent slightly, and Myra automatically tipped her head towards him so he could kiss her cheek.

"Thanks."

* * *

"Oh, that's nasty."

Myra complained aloud as Arthur held the little pot of Hosea's mystery cure. It was a strange green paste, and she wasn't sure she had the courage to put it in her mouth.

"Darlin', come on. Hosea swears by this shit." Arthur froze for a moment. "-Stuff."

Myra waved her hands at him frantically from her position on their bed. "Even you're callin' it shit! I just need a good rest. Preferably with a big man to help me warm up."

Arthur huffed loudly. If this woman was anything, it was persistent. "Damn you, Myra."

"I ain't doin' it." Myra crossed her arms, locking a steel gaze back on Arthur.

At that point, he knew his best bet was to bargain with Myra. She loved a challenge, and Arthur was fairly sure it was the only way she would give in.

"I tell you what-" That caught her attention. "You do this, and I'll tell Dutch to see if Lenny and Sean can go into town for me."

Myra weakly lifted her head from the pillow to sneeze. "And what will you be doin'?"

"That depends on what you do. Take the medicine and I might stay here and help you sweat out this fever. Otherwise-" Arthur stretched, popping his shoulders. "-I got stuff to do in town."

Myra looked at him pensively for a long moment before she held out a hand. "Gimmie the shit."

She downed the medicine quickly, trying not to gag at the consistency. "Nasty. Now get up here." Her hoarse order was half-hearted and joking.

Arthur took the empty cup. "Let me go talk to Dutch. I'll be back."

It took a few minutes of convincing on his part, but Arthur managed to get Sean and John to ride to town for his errands. They had both made comments about him being on a leash almost simultaneously, but after Arthur raised a threatening hand they made themselves scarce. On his way back into him and Myra's camp, he ran into Saide Adler. She held an empty tin in one hand, and a ladle in the other.

"I heard Myra was feelin' down, so I took her some cool water." Sadie told him. Those two women had been fast friends- their personalities went together like mud on a hog. "She's sleepin' now. Hosea said there was some chamomile in that paste so I think it helped a lot. This damn weather has got the best of all of us."

Arthur dipped his head. "That is does. Thank you, Sadie."

"Thank me when she's recovered, Morgan."

With a swish of her blonde braid, Sadie was walking back towards the camp's center. Arthur kept on his path to Myra, pausing briefly to kick the swampy mud off his boots. He ducked into their camp, quietly peaking at the cot. True to Sadie's word, Myra was asleep on her side, facing the wagon that made up the backside of their shelter.

Arthur shed his vest and gunbelt, then toed off his boots just outside the canvas flaps. Careful not to wake his sleeping lady, Arthur maneuvered himself onto the bed next to her. He allowed himself to slip into a relaxed state, shuffling so the covers made it up to his waist. As he grew comfortable, a sudden whack on his chest made Arthur freeze. He cracked his eyes open and looked to Myra, who was now facing him.

"Hello there." She hummed quietly. Arthur could see the sluggishness in her drooping eyelids.

"I see Hosea's cure worked to help you sleep?" Arthur laid on his back, allowing Myra to curl into his side. Her head rested in the crook of his shoulder, and her fingers crept up to rest between the buttons of his shirt as they normally did.

"It helped with the cough. Now I just feel like I drank too much." Myra let her eyes fall shut and nuzzled her nose along Arthur's collarbone.

"Chamomile. Hosea mixes it in." Arthur turned his head so his nose pressed into Myra's wild curls.

"Sneaky old man…" She commented. Arthur snorted a laugh, and barely heard Myra thank him for coming back to spend the day in with her.

"I'll always come back for you, sweetheart."


	4. Chapter 4- Drunken Fools

**Chapter 4**

Myra watched the gang members carefully. She was always observant, especially in times of duress, and her night had been full of it. A grim evening had come upon the group, Lenny returning in a frantic state, sans Micah. The younger man had come into camp yelling, clutching onto Dutch's coat as he told him Micah had been arrested by the Sheriff in Strawberry.

Myra and Arthur, along with a couple other gang members, were not all too disappointed by the news. It wasn't of much import to them that Micah be released. The slimy bastard was always picking fights and annoying the women, and it was coming back to bite him as no one wanted to volunteer to act as a rescue crew. Dutch and Arthur had exchanged a few words while the group dispersed, Myra returning to her previous task of helping Sadie shuck ears of corn.

"You know, I'm about done with all this kitchen work. Ain't we supposed to be outlaws?" Sadie complained once Pearson was out of earshot, and Myra shrugged.

"I know it ain't ideal. Believe me, when Arthur first brought me to the gang- after Dutch deemed me _worthy_ \- I did the kitchen work for weeks before they'd let me do nothin'. Wouldn't even let me ride with Arthur on jobs. Me and him had to take trips when they were in between jobs so I could learn to shoot and ride better." Myra told her. She did feel for Sadie. The woman really wasn't cut out for camp chores, and she was itching to be out with the boys. Myra understood. She had been the same way. Left out, told to chop the vegetables while the boys tried to rake in the cash.

"I know how'ta shoot." Sadie tossed a shuck aside, setting her freshly-peeled cob on a tray to be cut and stored for later.

"Do ya now? Good to hear. Means I ain't gotta argue wit'chu like I did this one." Arthur's low voice came from behind Myra. She didn't turn to him, only flicked her eyes briefly in his direction.

"Shut it." Myra grumbled. Arthur's hands rested on the silver and gold clasp of his gun belt as he looked at her.

"Dutch wants me to go into town and help Lenny relax. Ain't gonna be back 'til late." Arthur leaned one hip against Pearson's butcher table.

"Alright. You goin' now or after supper?" Myra looked to him as she peeled yet another ear. His hat hung low over his eyes, and he was dressed in a tooled leather vest and black duster.

"Soon as Lenny's changed. We'll pick up somethin' at the saloon for dinner." Arthur took a step towards Myra, who instinctively inclined her cheek in his direction.

After a quick kiss on the cheek and a sneaky peck to her lips, Arthur was headed towards Lenny's tent. His duster swayed gently in the wind, and the swagger in his walk only served to accentuate his attractiveness.

"I miss my husband." Sadie admitted, finally finished with the corn.

Myra's heart skipped at her admission, suddenly feeling embarrassed about the open gestures of affection. "Sadie, I'm sorry…"

"No, don't start. It ain't your fault." Sadie smirked, lowering her voice. "You guys kinda remind me of my husband and I, actually. It's nice. At least someone 'round here actually likes their partner."

Her comment was an obvious jab at Molly, who was nothing more than a plaything for Dutch when his bed was cold. She treated the other women as if they were beneath her, and it had gotten under Sadie's skin right quick. Myra couldn't help but agree, though no one would ever vocalize their opinion and face Dutch's wrath.

"Sometimes, I suppose I do like him. But take it from me, Arthur has his moments."

* * *

 ** _The Next Morning..._**

 _"_ _You alive, Arthur? Arthur?"_

Arthur was not exactly sure where he was or what was going on. Lenny's voice grated on his ears, and sunlight beat down on his eyelids with a vengeance. His stomach rolled as he came further into consciousness, and the headache got worse with every breath.

"...Shut up."

Lenny kept up talking, but it was gibberish to him.

" _Shut_ up." Arthur growled. "I wanna die."

He opened his eyes enough to see, and haphazardly swung his legs until his feet hit the floor. Arthur sat up shakily, running a hand over his face. "Where are… oh shit. What'd we do?"

"I don't know." Lenny countered, scrubbing a hand through his hair.

The iron bars of jail cells surrounded them on every side, and Arthur could feel the cool metal of his cot through his jeans.

"Me neither. _Shit!"_

The deputy watching the front desk turned to them, just as the door opened. "You pair of degenerates…"

"Degenerates?! I'll say!" The enraged voice was terrifyingly familiar and Arthur locked eyes with Lenny.

"We're in trouble now, ain't we?" The younger man sighed. Arthur nodded, letting himself fall back into the cot.

Myra stormed over the cells, pointing a finger between the two men. Clad in black trousers and a deep purple button down shirt, she was intimidating in her own way despite her short stature. Two pearl-handled .45 pistols were strapped to her waist with a black leather gun belt.

"You two are goddamn fools! A couple drinks my ass. Can't let you boys go nowhere unsupervised, I tell ya what!"

Myra was all piss and vinegar, with blonde curls tumbling about her shoulders. Normally Arthur would find it incredibly attractive, but at the moment he feared too much for his and Lenny's safety.

"There's a fine for drunken violence in this town." The deputy spoke up, and Myra gave the boys a pointed look. "Y'all are lucky no one was killed."

"Hey, we didn't start a thing." Arthur sat back up, snarling at the man behind the desk.

"Yes you did."

"Well… I don't remember." He waved the man off, ignoring Myra where she stood with hands on her hips.

"Ten dollars and you're outta here. Any of you got any money?"

Lenny started to fish around in his jacket while Myra stood unmoved. Her narrowed blue eyes were trained on Arthur. The man snorted at her attitude, going back to his position of laying on the cot.

"You know what? I ain't goin' with that crazy ass woman, you can leave me here." Arthur grumbled tiredly into the meager pillow provided in the cell. His eyes drifted shut, body excited at the prospect of a proper rest.

"Goddamn it, you dumb…" Myra's words trailed off, and the next thing Arthur knew his cell was creaking open. "Let's go!"

Ready to take a real nice cat nap, Arthur was yanked back into reality by a hand latching onto the back of his suspenders. Myra dragged him up, and Arthur was surprised at how dizzy he still was. Whether that was due to lack of food consumption or an excessive amount of vomiting, he was unsure. His body towered over Myra, and she grudgingly allowed him to lean on her.

Lenny, on the other hand, was scampering away from her wrath as soon as the deputy unlocked his cell.

"Smart man." Arthur grunted as they made their way into the morning sunshine outside the Sheriff's Office. "How'd you figure we was here, anyway?"

Myra's answer was initially drowned out by Lenny's vomiting, causing her to turn up her nose. "Lovely."

"Jesus… Boy can't hold his liquor." Arthur joked, sitting against one of the support beams for the overhang. Myra leapt onto the mucky ground and whistled shrilly for her horse.

"Neither can you, apparently. Actin' like drunken fools! Is you boys crazy? This ain't exactly what we need right now." Myra grasped her thoroughbred's reins as it strolled up, giving the mare a brief pat on the shoulder.

"Dutch told me to." Arthur defended. "Can't I just sit here and feel sorry for myself?"

"How's about you boys do that back at camp, huh? Your horse already found his way back." Myra walked to stand in front of Arthur. His sitting position on the porch allowed her to be about even with his face when standing on the ground.

"I suppose. Lenny, you comin'?" Arthur looked for his friend around Myra.

"Way ahead of you." Lenny was climbing onto his horse to head back to camp before the words were even out of his mouth.

"Get a move on." Myra snarked, slapping Lenny's stallion on the ass roughly to get him moving. The young man let out a groan at the sudden movements, doubling over to vomit over his mount's shoulder.

"Why the hell'd his horse stay?"

Myra smirked, patting Arthur on the shoulder. "Probably cause it was actually hitched good. Now come on, Morgan."

Once he was in Myra's saddle, said woman pulled herself up to sit in front of him. She scoffed. "You smell like a damn distillery."

Arthur pulled his hat off and shoved it into a saddlebag as Myra spurred the horse. He dropped his forehead until it rested against the back of Myra's neck, attempting the block out the light and quell his stomach. He could feel the tense muscles beneath Myra's shirt and felt a brief pang of guilt.

She had probably been worried when his horse trotted riderless back into camp. Myra just had a hard time conveying her emotions without anger being the prominent characteristic. The tongue-lashing she would give him was only a cover-up to prevent her worry from showing through.

"Sorry." Arthur murmured into her hair.

Myra relaxed fractionally. "I bet."

He allowed his nose to sink further into the hair at her neck, settling in for the fifteen-minute ride to camp. His free arm looped around Myra's waist, tugging her gently into his chest.

"I'm tryin' to ride, darlin'." Myra tossed over her shoulder.

"Hush up, woman." Arthur's voice was muffled by her skin, and Myra giggled as he kissed her exposed flesh. "You're lookin' gorgeous this mornin', know that?"

"You're still drunk." Myra elbowed him half-heartedly as he planted hot, open-mouthed kisses on the back of her neck. "Come on now, I'mma smell like an opened bottle if you don't quit."

Arthur pressed his hips against her rear, and Myra's eyes flicked to him with something akin to lust. They had not had a night to themselves since a string of storms had come in and the tents were forced to be closer together in camp to prevent a disaster. Wagons had been positioned on the outside to block wind, with canvas in the center to avoid being swept away.

Myra had been rather fine with the move up until the moment Arthur was half-drunk on the back of her horse and grinding against her ass. Something sparked, and desire built up in her stomach, waiting to be fulfilled. She couldn't help the unconscious reaction to push her rear back into Arthur's pelvis as they rode. His breath hitched as teeth sunk into her earlobe

For him, it might have been the alcohol remnants in his system, but Arthur couldn't quit thinking about how good she had looked storming into the Sheriff's office. And how good she would look kissing him back in the woods. "Myra, why don't you pull off the trail for a minute?"

Arthur thought she was going to refuse at first and maintain her willpower, but the mare came to an abrupt halt when his hand brushed her inner thigh. Her reaction only spurred Arthur on, large hands rubbing up and down her sides from breast to hip.

"Damn you, Arthur!" Myra nudged the thoroughbred towards a quiet patch of woods, all the while Arthur's hand crept further up her leg. Once they were far enough from the trail, Myra spun just about a full circle to grasp at his vest. She sat backwards in the saddle, mouth inches from his.

"I thought I smelled." He jabbed, leaning closer to the fiery blonde.

"You do. I think taking your clothes off will help though."

Despite his headache, Arthur decided that the sound of Myra's laughter would never cease to be a wondrous hangover cure.


	5. Chapter 5- Chores and Challenges

**Chapter 5**

In between big jobs, members of the Van Der Linde Gang occupied themselves in many different ways. Camp chores, assisting civilians, hunting, and fishing were all commonplace. Myra and Arthur had both been people who completed chores in the morning, leaving the rest of their day free to thieve, rob, or do anything they felt the need to do.

Myra's morning usually consisted of laundry and horse care- hanging the clothes which soaked overnight to dry in the morning sun, and feeding the equine population. Arthur normally could be found chopping wood and carrying sacks of flour and oats to Pearson's wagon some odd minutes after Myra vacated their bed. After chores, the couple savored the little bit of personal time they had by sitting near the fire and sipping their morning coffee together. If they were lucky, someone had picked up a newspaper the previous day in town for reading material.

Only a few others, namely Mrs. Grimshaw and Tilly, could be found out of their tents in the early hours of dawn. Little Jack Marston was occasionally up, but he would often crawl back into the tent with John and Abigail to read.

"Boy's too caught up in his own head." Arthur said as the dark-haired child skittered back underneath the tent flap. He approached Myra with one outstretched hand offering a cup of coffee.

"Thank you." Myra sipped on the hot liquid, savoring the feeling in her throat. "And leave Jack alone. He's a sweetheart. All kids his age are."

She had a soft spot for kids, and Arthur knew it. It almost made him feel guilty knowing that he did not really desire to have a second child after Isaac when Myra liked them so much. She understood, as they had talked about it numerous times, but he always felt bad. Myra's biggest flaw was her inability to deal with emotions, and he could tell it upset her more than she let on.

"'Til they're runnin' 'round and sneakin' all the candy out your bags." Arthur joked.

It was a chilly morning on Horseshoe Overlook, and the wind was giving the fire a run for its money. Myra was bundled underneath a faded red winter coat, sheep wool lining the body and arms to keep her warm. She sat on a log obscenely close to the fire, snip toe boots almost brushing the rocky border.

"You read this already?" Arthur picked up the discarded newspaper from her log, lowering himself to sit next to her. His knees popped and clicked, and a short groan escaped his lips.

"You gettin' old there, Arthur?" Myra teased, fingers wrapped tight around the coffee cup.

"Hey now. You ain't much younger darlin', don't forget that." Arthur waved the newspaper. "Now, did'ya read it or not?"

"Just glanced at the front page, but you can take it." Myra laughed, pressing up against his side to get a better look at the paper. They fell into a companionable silence, and Myra sipped her coffee slowly. The sun was peeking halfway over the horizon but the rocky peaks surrounding them made it hard to leak into camp.

"Look at this. Price'a ammo's 'bout to go up again." Arthur muttered, pointing at one of the small blurbs scattered throughout the paper.

"Ain't cost ya nothin' if you steal it." Myra chirped. She used Arthur's shoulder as leverage to stand, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek as she did so. "And, speakin' of cost... I got a job today, you doin' anythin'?

Arthur set the paper down and turned to Myra where she stood with a can of strawberries in hand. Her favorite. "You got a job?"

Myra wrung her fingers together in what looked like anxiety, but her voice was strong. "You heard me, Arthur. You comin', or what?"

* * *

 _ **Later that day…**_

As the day progressed, Arthur decided it was anxiety that Myra had been displaying earlier when she'd invited him along.

They rode north of Emerald Ranch, seeking out a debtor for Herr Leopold Strauss. He had said that this collection would require a 'gentle' touch, and thought it was perfect for Myra. The Austrian loan-shark told her a while back that she would be a fantastic debt-collector. ' _Just as scary as you are sweet',_ Strauss had told Myra. Apparently certain debtors responded better to a sweeter figure coming to collect their money than a solid mass of muscle like Arthur. Myra agreed to the task, but was quickly disheartened by the reactions of debtors. They had gone on a couple collections together, but the victims were mostly difficult. Men were vehemently opposed to giving Myra anything, and it often ended in Arthur beating them to a pulp before they relented. Apparently physicality played a large part in debt collection.

Myra grew frustrated after a few failed collections where Arthur had to step in. Her dignity was being damaged, and it was embarrassing when the boys teased her. For someone so independent, it was nothing short of humiliating when Arthur had to save her. She was not a damsel in distress by any means. Arthur had reassured her after the attempts that it wasn't a fault on her end, but a simple matter of size and power. Myra was silver-tongued, even to Hosea's standards, but it wasn't always enough to force money out of desperate people.

Arthur was surprised that Myra had even agreed to Leopold's latest collection, but he went along nonetheless. As much as he knew Myra would like to handle one alone, he knew she was unsure, and would rather not return empty-handed. If he was being honest, it almost seemed that Myra wasn't fond of the emotional toll that collections took, but he wouldn't say it to her outright. Myra needed to come to her own conclusions rather than simply accept his opinions.

"Strauss said it's some lady name Claudia Hatcher. Lives up north of Emerald Ranch off the west side of the trail." Myra had told him. "Said he don't think she'll answer to a man. Asked me last night if I could go."

Arthur just nodded and agreed. He knew this was something she felt obligated, albeit a bit hesitant, to do. Dutch was working with Hosea on a river fishing trip, and no one else seemed to have any great ideas. Debt-collecting was legal work, and Arthur was all too glad to have something to do.

The rode up on the woman's homestead about a quarter mile west of the trail. Myra pulled her mare's reins, and the Thoroughbred came to a halt about fifty yards from the house. Arthur's Warmblood stopped beside her, whickering and tossing his head at the sudden stop.

"I'mma go in on foot." Myra took a quick look through the binoculars. "Don't look like there's more than one person here."

Myra slipped from her saddle, walking confidently towards the house. Arthur could clearly see the rigidity of her shoulders and the falter in her normally confident stride.

A quick rap on the door rewarded Myra with an immediate answer. The door swung open, but no one was in Myra's direct field of view. She slowly lowered her eyes, seeing a tiny boy, maybe a year younger than Jack, grasping the door.

"Hello there, Ma'am." Myra froze, a swift pan of guilt wracking her stomach. She cringed as another boy, probably the original's twin, appeared behind him. Myra was not one to be mean to children- they were just products of their environment, whether good or bad. She felt as if it was somehow a corruption of their innocence by being there.

"Hello. How can we help you?"

Myra smiled, kneeling down to their height. They were so little that her ass was almost on her spurs when she crouched evenly with them. "I'm looking for Claudia. Is that your Momma?"

" _I_ am." Myra looked from the boy into the room beyond him. A woman who was clad in a blue cotton dress and leather cinch belt stood behind them. She was probably Myra's age, possibly a year or two older judging by the lines in her face.

Standing back on her feet, Myra gave a smile. "Ms. Hatcher. I am here on behalf of Herr Strauss. I believe you met him in Valentine?"

The woman paled, grasping a boy in each hand by the shoulder. "Boys, go play in the back room, alright?"

"But Momma,-" They hummed out at the same time.

Claudia only snapped her fingers. "I said go! Get on, boys. In the other room. I'll be back in a minute."

Once they had disappeared around a corner, Claudia stepped out onto the porch, forcing Myra back a step. "I ain't got it."

Myra leaned against the porch rail with a lone raised brow. As much as her gut- whether it was her deeply-rooted motherly instinct or just her stupid conscience- didn't want her too, it had to be done.

"Then we got a problem, don't we?"

"Listen, Miss. I got kids to feed. Ain't got no man to help me out. I don't have the money." Claudia looked exasperated. Exhausted, if Myra was being honest with herself.

"You must have somethin'." Myra tapped a boot against the wood floor, glancing briefly over her shoulder. She could just barely make out Arthur through the trees, standing on foot beside the horses.

"If I did, I wouldn't be talkin' to you. I-"

"Momma?" This voice was that of a young girl rather than a boy, and Myra turned to the front door as it cracked open. The girl was about ten or eleven, but sickly as could be. Her skin was abnormal and clammy. Myra could see the yellow tinge it was taking on, and was barely able to maintain her straight face as the girl hid in Claudia's skirts.

"I ain't feelin' so well, Momma. I's just sick again in bed. I'm real sorry." The girl was shivering, thin and bony across her whole body.

Claudia looked away from Myra to stroke her daughter's hair. "It's alright, baby. Go ahead in the back room with your brothers, okay? I'll come get you some broth."

Myra took the moment to stand away from the porch rail. Claudia's daughter was ill- fatally, if the yellow skin was any indication.

And with that fleeting thought, Myra's mind was made up.

She was not normally sentimental- hell, she'd ran away from her family and left behind a life when she'd come with Arthur. This mother and her sick child just tugged at her heartstrings. Myra didn't know who she was more upset with, herself or Strauss. Her for her lack of ability to contribute in this way and block out the emotion, or Strauss for lending to the young mother in the first place.

"Stay away from us-" Claudia pushed her sick daughter gently back inside. "-I ain't neglectin' my daughter for the likes of you. She deserves more than you ever will. Come back in a month, I'll have the goddamn money."

Myra chewed on the inside of her cheek, head slowly swiveling back and forth. She stepped off the porch wordlessly, a fight between to voices raging in her mind. It was unfair. Unfair to the woman, her kids. It seemed selfish to say it was unfair to Myra; Strauss wasn't aware of her soft spot for kids. But he hadn't told her the whole situation.

"Feelin' ashamed?"

Myra shook her head, turning back to face Claudia as her boots landed on the grass. "Forget about the debt. Take care of your kids. Love your daughter. I ain't comin' back."

Claudia stood quietly, the look on her face mistrustful. She had every right to be.

"I'm sorry." The words were little more than a whisper, and Claudia was already sweeping back into the house by the time they were out of Myra's mouth. She walked slowly back to Arthur, the pressure building behind her eyes. Her vision blurred slightly, and Myra cursed the tears which she knew were coming. Nothing made her more frustrated than her body crying without her permission.

Arthur noticed right away, but Myra waved him off. "Let's go. We can camp south of Emerald Ranch."

After their brief ride, Myra still felt the annoying pressure behind her eyes and the choked up sensation in her throat. It was making it hard to breathe, and she leapt from her horse as soon as they stopped. Arthur was right behind her when she dropped to sit on her rear. Myra dragged her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. The sobs were already coming out, and she couldn't stop the whimpering that escaped her mouth.

"My, what's wrong? You ain't said a word." Arthur knelt in front of her, blue eyes full of unadulterated concern. "How'd it go?"

"I didn't."

"You didn't collect?" It was a simple question. Arthur wasn't mad- he never really could be at her. But something about hearing it aloud made Myra sniffle and push toward Arthur's warm body. He wrapped strong arms around her curled up form and listened as she whispered.

"It's absolved. The poor woman probably hates me forever, but don't worry. It's take care of." Myra shook with her breaths

Arthur nodded, gently pulling them both to stand. "What happened?"

"H-Her daughter. Sick. She's in a bad way, Arthur. Skin's yellow." Myra took another shaky breath. "Her daughter's fightin' with the damned grim reaper himself and I'm on her doorstep tryin' to get money out of her."

Myra was still shaking, face hidden against his shoulder. Arthur gently lead her to a rocky overhang which could give them some shelter for the night. He pulled the bedrolls from their horses, tossing them down before returning to Myra. She sat with her back against the rock face, forehead resting on bent knees.

"I'm sorry, Arthur." She whispered.

The outlaw turned an incredulous gaze on her, tugging the petite woman until she laid against his chest. "Don't be. Strauss is doin' legal work, but it ain't exactly moral."

Myra's built up mental walls seemed to crumble, and she cried into Arthur's shirt for a long while. All of the stress which had been on them came bearing down at once, and Myra was helpless to deal with it.

"It's alright, Myra."

Arthur let her cry for quite some time, humming song tunes she liked and rubbing her arms. It wasn't until he started on 'The Girl From Berryville' that Myra hiccuped tiredly and stopped him.

"Not that one. Are you ready to sleep?" Myra toyed with the buttons on his shirt from her new position. She laid between his outstretched legs, left side curled tightly against him.

"Just about. You want somethin' to eat?" Arthur asked.

Myra denied his offer. "I'm just gonna lay down."

She dragged their bedrolls together and climbed beneath the heavy covers. It was odd for Myra to be so quiet, but Arthur knew she was spent. Dealing with emotions wasn't her forte. Hell, Arthur was far from sure how they worked either.

After he ate, Arthur wrote in his journal near the fire before crawling underneath the covers with his love. Myra, to his surprise, was awake. She silently latched onto his chest, pushing her face into his neck. Her hands fisted tightly into his shirt and Arthur allowed her to cling to him

"I love you, Arthur Morgan." The words were quiet and drowned by the wind which blew over the plains, but he felt them reverberate somewhere deep within him.

* * *

 _Life is teaching us something new everyday. Myra tried to play loanshark today for Strauss, though it did not end as anticipated. Something happened while she was at the house. The woman's child is gravely ill and Myra could not bear the guilt, I suppose. The criminal within my head cursed it for a moment, but I then realized exactly why this woman means so much to me. There is a light in her that shines above the crime we commit. Something that helps her separate right from wrong. I ain't got a clue what it is and neither, I think, does Myra. All I can say is that for someone who hates crying, she really gets herself into some complex situations._

* * *

:)


	6. Chapter 6- Wild West (Part 1 of 4)

_So, a little throwback here. Back to when Myra was still a rancher's innocent daughter and Arthur was a sad and single cowboy. These next few chapter's/short's/one-shot's inspiration is the song '_ _ **Wild West**_ ' _(haha, can you ever guess why?) by Runaway June. There will be a line from the song for each part of this collection. It just worked for me here, so I hope you enjoy :)_

* * *

 **Chapter 6: Wild West**

 _ **Part 1 of 4:**_ ' _You better get your boots on'_

* * *

Strawberry was a fairly dull town for one who frequented the area. Sure, the waterfall and river was pretty, but it got old after twenty-some years of looking at it. Everyone knew everyone in the mountainous town, which meant the general store and post office were gossip hubs.

Myra Alvron brushed her way into the general store one afternoon, greeting the shopkeeper with a small smile. "Mornin' Hugh."

"Miss Alvron! How are you gettin' on?" Hugh Gerald asked with a smile. Outwardly he seemed friendly, but an ulterior motive lurked. Hugh's only son Robert was single and in search of a future wife. Myra had politely expressed her disinterest before, though the older Gerald man failed to understand.

"Just fine. I'm lookin' for fresh apples, you got anything in from Lemoyne lately?" Myra fidgeted with her long skirt, cursing the material under her breath. She would never understand point of women wearing them. Aside from looking pretty, there was not a whole lot of sense to it.

"I think I might." Hugh turned towards the store room. "Robert! Come out here for a moment."

Twenty minutes and a declined dinner invitation later, Myra exited the shop. She had a burlap sack full of fresh apples and peaches weighing down her left arm, and a bottle of sweet cherry wine (on the house, of course), in her other hand. Walking down the steps, she focused on her feet to avoid missing a step as her vision was obstructed by the sack.

"...On the house, really! Good Lord, I'd love-ah!" Myra's muttering abruptly came to and end as she walked smack-dab into another body. Her hands automatically released the items they were holding to seek balance on something.

In the end, she grasped onto worn leather and wool, failing to hear the shattering of glass that she had been anticipating. Myra looked up slowly, traveling from her elbows to her hands where they were holding onto soft fabric. She took in the man that she'd run into, surprised at the fact she had to tilt her head up to see him properly. He was tall, extremely so with icy blue eyes. His hair was dark blonde, slicked beneath his wide-brim hat. The look on his face was equally as surprised as hers, and Myra gave a shy chuckle.

"Oh my, Sir. I am so sorry! I was just-" Myra released his vest from her death grip, taking a couple of steps back.

"It's no trouble, Madam." The man, upon further examination, was not the type she normally saw around Strawberry. Handsome, but… odd, for the area. A blue shirt hidden beneath a black duster clung to his torso, and he wore elk skin chaps over dark blue jeans. A black bandanna (tied rather inconspicuously as an ascot), and sharp silver spurs finished off the ensemble. His clothes were worn, but in a rough-and-tumble kind of way that reminded her of the Bounty Hunters who had been hunting for Joshua Brown near Owanjila Lake.

This man's skin was weather-beaten, making him appear a few years older than what he probably was. The thing which stood out the most was his engraved bandolier and gunbelt. A large pistol- most likely a volcanic pistol like her grandfather carried- was strapped into the holster, and a buck knife hung behind that. The bandolier was fully-stocked, rifle and pistol rounds alike tucked neatly into place.

"Let me help ya." The man knelt down, and Myra finally noticed the fruit scattered about the wooden planks from her bag.

"Oh thank you! I must have been day dreaming, I didn't even see you there." Myra was flustered, blushing from their close proximity.

The man stood, tossing the last of her fruit back in the bag. "Like I said, Miss. Ain't no trouble."

The bottle of cherry wine was dangling from one of his hands, and Myra admired his reflexes. She held a hand out for the bag, but he quickly shook his head.

"Allow me, Miss..?" He looked at her inquisitively.

"Myra. Alvron. Myra Alvon." She stuttered, resisting the urge to slap a palm to her forehead.

"Well, Miss Alvron. Let me carry your things. It's the least I can do. You got a horse 'round here, or a wagon?" His blue eyes swept around, seeking out the nearest hitching post.

"Yes. A horse, I mean. He's hitched over the by the general store. Thank you, Sir." Myra gestured for him to follow, pausing as he spoke.

"It's Arthur. Arthur Morgan." The man introduced himself, lowering his voice ever so slightly.

As they walked, Myra smiled. "Well it sure is nice to see a new face 'round here."

"Even one ugly as mine, I suppose." Arthur joked.

"Well I don't know about that, Mr. Morgan." Myra reached out to pet her Buckskin Appaloosa, Spice, as they approached. The gelding leaned into her touch. "You ain't too hard on the eyes."

Arthur turned a bit pink at her comment, and Myra giggled. She was something of a jester herself. Her Mama always warned that too much flirting was scandalous, but Myra figured a bit couldn't hurt every now and again. Especially when it was done in a joking manner.

"And you're quite a refreshing site yourself, Miss Alvron. It's Arthur, by the way. Ain't no need for formalities." The cowboy then turned his attention to Spice, admiring his color. "Handsome horse. Where'd you find a color like this?"

Myra patted Spice's cheek, giving him a quick scratch under the chin. "Our ranch. My Pa's been breeding Appaloosas and the like just 'bout as long as I can remember."

That seemed to pique Arthur's interest. "A stable man?"

Myra shook her head. "Mostly private treaty sales. Never wanted to get into the whole stable business. He farms as well. Ain't no one relyin' on breedin' horses for a income 'round here. You lookin'?"

Arthur shrugged, motioning down the row of hitched horses towards a black thoroughbred mare. "I got my old girl Boadicea here. She's been real good to me. Thinkin' 'bout retirin' her. Lettin' her live the the good life."

Myra turned to watch the tall mare. She didn't see a lot of thoroughbreds. "May I?"

"Course." Arthur gave a sweeping gesture towards the horse, and Myra plucked an apple from the burlap sack he held before fastening it to Spice's saddle.

The pair made their way down to Boadicea, and Myra grinned like a maniac. She loved horses. "Hey girl."

Myra gently laid a hand on the mare's neck, laughter like tinkling bells when the mare pushed a velvety nose into her cheek. "Well hello. I like you too."

Arthur chuckled at the interaction. Myra Alvron was certainly a different brand of woman. Most were turned away by his outfit alone, but this girl seemed to disregard his dress and smile on her own free will. He had heard some of her irritated muttering on her way out of the general store, but hadn't the time to avoid their collision. In fact, he still clutched the bottle of bright red wine in one hand as the blonde haired woman talked to his horse.

She was dressed in a long black skirt, the bottom edge dirty from the muddy ground. Her top was a light turquoise, complementing the color of her eyes. Myra's blonde mane of hair was barely contained by a half-up style which allowed ringlets to cascade over her shoulders. Standing about shoulder-height to him, she was rather petite. The woman stroked Boadicea with a confident hand, allowing the horse to sniff eagerly at the apple. Myra offered it on a flat palm.

"She's gonna wanna go home wit'chu right quick if ya keep that up. Them are her favorite." Arthur patted the mare's back, behind her saddle.

"Nah, I think she loves her man." Myra gave Arthur a quick flash of a grin and Boadicea a final pat. "Well, I best be gettin' home soon. Thank you for your kindness, Mr- uh, Arthur, I mean."

Arthur nodded, holding out the bottle of wine she'd dropped earlier. "Don't forget this. Can't be cheap."

Myra snorted and waved her hand flippantly. "Please, keep it. Didn't cost me nothin' but twenty minutes of my life."

"Stealin' wine?" Arthur asked playfully. Myra picked her way back to Spice through the hitched horses. Arthur followed at a respectful distance.

"Nah, ain't nothin' like that. Though that would have been a lot more interestin'. Shopkeeper's son seems to think I need a husband right this second." Myra grumbled and made sure the bag of fruit was secure on Spice's saddle.

Arthur held out a polite hand when she placed a boot in the stirrup. "Eh, who needs that, right? Horses do you just fine when you need someone to talk to."

Myra laughed, using Arthur's outstretched hand as leverage. "Damn straight. And speakin'a horses… you ever get the inklin' you need another one so this sweet girl can retire, come on up to the ranch. We're just west of where Hawks Eye Creek ends. South of Mount Shann." She paused, taking the reins as Arthur untied Spice for her, "And, please. Call me Myra. Mrs. Alvron is my mother."

Arthur nodded and tipped his hat. "I'll keep that in mind then, Myra. You have yourself a good day."

"And you as well, Arthur Morgan."


	7. Chapter 7- Wild West (Part 2 of 4)

_**Chapter 7: Wild West**_

 _ **Part 2 of 4:**_ ' _Come on, boy, be my cowboy'_

* * *

"Myra! There's a mare foalin'!"

Myra jumped from her seat in the barn. She had been polishing the leather bridles and tack when her sister's voice came echoing down the corridor. Myra gently hushed all the horses as she jogged out of the stalls towards the cattle coral. Though the cattle took up most of the fenced in area outside, the small outbuilding connected was where Myra's father housed the pregnant mares.

"Jessie?" Myra called as she entered the building. The girl was fast, because Myra had been right behind her after she yelled. She eventually saw the blonde head of her seventeen year-old sister poke over one of the dividers.

"Down here. I think she's alright." Jessie replied softly.

Myra took cautious steps, being sure to let the horse know she was there. It was one of her Dad's chestnut Appaloosas- Jessie's favorite. The mare was huffing and had her ears pinned, but looked fine otherwise.

"Lord, I hope it's another roan. They sure are pretty." Myra leaned her forearms on the wooden stall door, watching Jessie pet the mare between her eyes.

"No, sister, not me. I'm hoping for a chestnut." Jessie patted the mare. "Come on, girly. It's alright."

Myra rolled her eyes, stepping carefully into the stall and kneeling beside Jessie. The beat-up trousers she wore then were much more convenient than a skirt. "They're nearly the same, you know?"

"Not nearly, Myra. You know me, I'm all about the color." Jessie continued her petting of the mare until footsteps approached the stall.

"Girls? You in here?" Carson Alvron, Myra's horse-loving father, appeared over the stall door. He wore a wore a wide-brim hat to hide his graying brown hair, and suspenders to hold up the trousers which were probably too big but he refused to replace. "Nothin' yet?"

"Not yet. She's gettin' close, though." Myra answered as she looked the mare over carefully.

Carson nodded. "Good deal. Your mother said supper's nearin' on done."

"Thanks, Pa." Myra said as he walked off. The man never had anything on his mind but chores to do. "So, a dollar says the foal is roan."

Jessie raised her eyebrows. "You're on."

The Alvron sisters sat with the mare until she foaled, and they eagerly rubbed cloth over the newborn's coat to uncover its color. It was a little filly, but too wet still to determine a color. Myra moved slightly as the mare shifted to lick her baby, allowing Jessie to take over the cleaning.

"Well, I'll be damned. We was both wrong." Jessie peaked around the mare's head.

"What is it, Jessie?" Myra's view was hindered even as she tried to peer around.

"Looks like a grulla. I was off on this one, I suppose." Jessie stood, holding out a hand to help Myra do the same. "Since we were both wrong, what do you say to a hot supper?"

"Sounds like a great idea to me."

* * *

"Hawks Eye Creek…" Arthur looked at the map carefully, narrowing his eyes to search for the right spot. "South of Mount Shann…"

He looked at the cross road sign before him and nodded thoughtfully. It was just after dawn, and the sun was starting to shine down on Big Valley. The air was chilly, but nothing too bothersome. Arthur spurred Boadicea on, heading towards the ranch Myra Alvron had told him about.

It had been two months, by his count, since Arthur met Myra in Strawberry. Boadicea was fast as ever, but he was starting to feel bad about all the strain put on his favorite girl. Her coat wasn't as slick and shiny as it used to be, and her eyes weren't as excited. He reckoned it was easy enough to go to a stable so his girl could retire, but Arthur couldn't get that damn woman from Strawberry out of his head. Rarely was a woman so kind to him. Mary had been, at a time, but that was five years ago now. Since she had let him go and told him he was too much of an outlaw for her.

Arthur rode for a long hour before he could see building on top of a ridge. The path up was steep, rutted by wagon wheels and the normal mountain landscape. Boadicea threw her head at the tumbling ground beneath them, and Arthur patted her neck gently. As they came to the top of the hill, he could see a man and woman in front of a house. They seemed to be placing a sign in the ground, but could not, for the life of them, decide where.

Boadicea's whickering alerted them to his presence, and the man waved. "Hello there, Sir!"

Arthur tipped his hat out of pure muscle movement. "Howdy, partner. Ma'am."

"Mornin', Sir. How do you do?" The woman smiled. She was on the heavier side, wearing a deep red dress and a belt around her waist. There was a small pistol tucked in the side, and her red hair was tied into a bun atop her head.

The man was rather thin, with brown hair that was beginning to fade into gray at the roots. Clean-shaven, with a wide jaw and square stance. These must be Myra's parents. It only made sense she still lived there despite her age. The woman did not seem like one who was eager to marry and settle. Something about her screamed 'adventurous', and it reminded Arthur of some of the women back at camp.

"Just fine, thank you." Arthur dismounted, gently holding his mare's reins. "Y'all are the Alvrons?"

The man nodded. "That's correct. You here to look at horses? I got some of the finest."

Arthur nodded swiftly and smiled. "That's right, actually. I met your daughter, I believe. In Strawberry. 'Bout two months back now. She told me if I was ever in need to head up here."

"Well I'm glad you thought to come back. Name's Carson Alvron. This is my wife, Jane." The man shook Arthur's hand, and the outlaw gave a nod to the woman.

"Arthur Morgan. It's nice to meet you both." He inclined his head towards the horse which stood languidly behind him. "This is Boadicea. She's a great mare. I'm just lookin' to retire her, I think."

Carson motioned for him to follow as Jane headed back to the house. "Well bring her on back, we can put her in a stall for now while you take a look around." The man paused to take in Arthur's outfit. "What kind of business you in?"

Arthur tensed at the question, and heard Hosea's scolding in his mind for doing so. "Just… gettin' started in the oil business. My Pa's estate included some wells, so I'm lookin' into it."

"No wonder you carry guns like that. The bandits 'round these parts will try to rob anyone." Carson dismissed him easily, and Arthur breathed a bit easier.

"When I met Myra before, she said you liked Appaloosas, that right?" He asked the man as they walked.

"That's right. Great breed. Great for workin', runnin'. Ain't as fast as that racin' machine you got there, but damned close." Carson explained. They headed towards two outbuildings, and Arthur took in the ranch carefully. It wasn't fancy, but it was a bit more than most ranchers had.

"Good to know." Arthur followed Carson into the larger outbuilding, where the smell and sound of horses could be found right away.

"Myra, Jessie! You out here?" Carson called.

There was shuffling from around one of the corners before anyone appeared. Arthur smirked as Myra tumbled into view. She wore black trousers and, he dared guess, the same turquoise blouse he had met her in. Her hands were stained from leather polish, and her blonde hair was plaited over one shoulder.

"Yes, Pa. What's goin' on?" Myra didn't seem to recognize him right away, and Arthur realized he looked a bit different. Probably had a bit more of a five o'clock shadow and shaggy hair than last time they had met.

"This is Mr. Morgan. I believe you met already?" Carson looked between his daughter and Arthur.

"Oh, my! Ar- Mr. Morgan, you came!" Myra held her tongue as his first name tried to sneak out of her lips. It was not a proper gesture in front of her father.

"I did. This ol' girl is gettin' tired." Arthur turned to give Boadicea a pat, and Myra walked forwards with an extended hand.

"Well, let me get her comfortable." Myra took the reins, walking towards the back of the barn to an empty stall.

" _Carson! The damn well's broke again!"_ Jane's voice came bouncing off the barn walls, and Carson sighed.

"Excuse me, Mr. Morgan. The well reel to bring up water just ain't been workin' right. Myra can show you the available horses. I'll be back in a just a moment." The man hustled out of the barn, and Arthur watched him go before walking towards the end of the barn where Myra had stalled Boadicea.

"She is a beauty." The woman said aloud as Arthur neared. He nodded, setting his hand on his saddle which she'd already removed and tossed over the stall door.

"That she is."

Myra emerged from the stall holding his bit and bridle, hanging it on a hook beside the door. Boadicea snacked on the plentiful hay and oats, tossing her mane happily. Myra smiled at the actions, turning to Arthur.

"Well it's been quite a while, ain't it, Cowboy?" She set her hands on her hips, looking up at Arthur. "It has. I been busy with… business. Been thinkin' she looks a bit rough lately, so I came back up here on your advice." Arthur explained.

Myra glanced back towards his saddle where the handles for two pistols were visible. That made three guns when including the one on his right hip. "And, uh, what sort of business is that, exactly?"

"Oil. Oil and tar." Arthur lied, but Myra did not seem to buy it as easy as her father. She gave a suspicious nod and waved a hand for him to follow. In the other, she held a simply headstall and bit. The reins were tossed over her shoulder.

"Uh huh… Well, the available horses are out in the big pasture. We'll probably have to take a lasso just cause they ain't gonna wanna get right back on the bit." Myra told him.

Arthur saw the lassos dangling from a rusty nail and snatched one, pulling the rope through his fingers to test its rigidity. "Got it."

"Good. Now let's see about your horse wrangling skills, Mr. Oil-man Morgan." The end of her sentence was sarcastic, and Arthur knew she didn't buy the story one bit.

Once in the pasture, Arthur admired the many horses available. There were Appaloosas in just about every color, and a couple of buckskin paints mixed in. One in particular caught his eye right away. An Appaloosa stallion, with a black base color. Instead of the traditional blanket-type marking over the rear, he was spotted all over. One blue eye was visible, watching him and Myra carefully as they approached.

"That stallion's pretty neat." Arthur commented.

Myra nodded, "I think so. Pa ain't a fan of the heavy spots like that. I think he'd make a great horse though."

Arthur walked about the pasture, twisting the lasso as he picked through the lot of at least fifteen horses. He kept coming back to the speckled gelding, and Myra smirked. "Love at first sight, ay?"

A snort escaped his lips. "I don't believe in that shit."

Myra placed a hand over her heart. "Well I'll be. Cowboys are supposed to be romantic, don't you know. "

"Right. And I'm the Queen of England." Arthur muttered.

"More like my mysteriously employed cowpoke, but that's a whole different story." Myra quipped.

Just as she spoke, Arthur expertly tossed the lasso. It landed perfectly around the horses neck, and Arthur made sure it was secure before he approached. "Woah there, boy. Calm it down."

He held up his hands, sure to keep the lasso in one. "Easy now."

Arthur was patting the stallion's neck when he realized the odd lack of commentary from Myra. He twisted his neck to see her still standing where he'd been minutes ago, staring open-mouthed at him and the stallion.

"You gonna catch flies, Myra." Arthur called.

That seemed to wake her up, and Myra closed her mouth. Her arms crossed over her chest as she approached him. "Ain't never seen someone lasso that good. You work in oil, huh?"

"That's right." Arthur couldn't help the smile that spread across his face.

"You're lyin' to me, Mister Morgan." Myra pointed a finger at him, and Arthur was surprised to see her looking more curious than angry. She stuffed the bit into his new stallion's mouth and Arthur made quick work of fastening the rest of the tack in place.

"Maybe a little." Arthur admitted. He moved to head back towards the barn, but Myra stopped.

"Why don't we go for a walk. You and freckles here can bond, and you can tell me what you really do." Myra didn't leave room for argument.

"You drive a hard bargain, Miss Alvron." Arthur walked further into the pasture away from the barn. The stallion trotted behind, sniffing his new friend and allowing Arthur to pet him gently.

* * *

"Bounty hunter?"

"When I need to be."

"Circus act?" Myra looked at Arthur hopefully.

"Not a chance. I met a circus act, once. But I definitely ain't part of one."

Myra tapped her chin in thought. "I'm runnin' out of ideas. Come on, throw me a line here."

Arthur chuckled. "I ain't a good man, Myra. That's all I can say."

Myra paused. They were nearing the edge of the pasture, the barn fading behind them since they started walking. It had been quite a ways farther than Arthur imagine- through a shallow stream and down a rocky incline almost a mile from the main ranch.

"What?"

Arthur's hat hung low, casting shadows over his face. "I do a lot of ridin'. Lot of lookin' 'round and seein' the sights. I take opportunities for money when they come. Call me a drifter, whatever you'd like."

Myra brightened up at his words. "I've always wanted to travel. See the country, you know? Strawberry ain't exactly excitin'."

"There is some beautiful places. But come on, now. This ain't so bad, is it?" Arthur motioned around him. Having stability, surrounded by horses? Sounded like a good life to him.

"Bein' cooped up all the time? It's not great. I just wanna see somethin' different-"

"Hold up there!" A man's deep baritone echoed from the pines which met the edge of the fence line.

Myra's face paled, and she turned towards Arthur. He looked passive, but alert. He held out the stallion's reins to her. "If this goes south, get on him and _run_. Call for help"

Two men emerged from the trees, pistols pointed at the pair behind the fence. They were concealed behind bandannas, not unlike the one Arthur wore around his neck. She watched her newfound friend expertly dangle a hand above where his gun hung, and something clicked.

" _Call me drifter, whatever you'd like."_

He had seen the sights, and he did a lot of riding. Myra knew good and well that he carried a lot of firepower. It took just a moment of looking between Arthur's intimidating stance and the men across the fence for her to draw her own silent conclusion.

Arthur was an _outlaw._


	8. Chapter 8- Wild West (Part 3 of 4)

_**Chapter 8: Wild West**_

 _ **Part 3 of 4:**_ ' _Outlaws makin' a run for it'_

* * *

Myra stood slack-jawed behind Arthur as the men in the trees held them at gunpoint.

"Anythin' you got, I want. Toss it here now, and no one gets hurt!" One of the men spoke with a high-pitched tone, and Myra raised an eyebrow. He wasn't exactly the picture of intimidation.

"You don't wanna do this, boys." Arthur warned, voice growing deep. He held a protective stance in front of Myra. She was all-too-aware of Arthur's right hand slowly moving for the pistol at his hip, though his duster concealed it from the men.

"Shut it, cowpoke. Give us your stuff, and no one gets shot today." The other man called.

Myra started to reach for her pockets, but she stopped as a ' _BANG'_ sliced through the morning air like a hot knife through fresh bread. The metallic taste of gunfire was all around, and the stallion reared high onto his hind legs. Myra was forced to release him, and felt herself knocked to the ground by a different source.

"Ugh! What the-!" Myra looked up to find Arthur over her as she laid on her back, and the sound of gunshots echoing above their heads. The close proximity would have made her blush in any other scenario, but the sound of gunfire dampened the mood.

"Stay down." Arthur growled. He suddenly shot up to his feet, firing off three rounds from his pistol. The weapon made earth-shatteringly loud noises, and Myra threw her hand over her ears. She peeked up from the ground, unable to see their attackers anymore.

"Myra? Myra, you alright?" Arthur was suddenly back in her field of view, and she nodded. Her ears rung with the echoing gunshots.

"Fine! I'm fine, where'd they go?" Myra asked frantically.

"They're dead. Now come on, let's get." Arthur nudged her back towards the barn.

"Dead… what? Dead? Arthur, you- you killed them?" Myra stuttered. She was so confused as to what actually happened. Arthur was moving quickly back towards the barn, dragging her by a sleeve.

" _Shot_ 'em, an anyone 'round here would'a heard that. I dragged the bodies back into the trees, but we don't wanna be around if they got friends." Arthur was pulling her along until Myra dug her heels into the ruddy grass. She vaguely wondered when he had the chance to conceal the bodies, but Myra figured she'd been dazed for longer than she originally thought.

"Arthur! Arthur, stop!" Myra yanked her sleeve from his grasp, stepping back a few steps.

Arthur whirled to face her, eyes ablaze. "Are ya out of your damn mind! If there's-"

"You're an outlaw." Myra accused pointing a finger at the outlaw who was so unlike any other of his kind she'd met.

The fire in his eyes died down a bit, and Arthur stood straight. "I told you I wasn't a good man, Myra."

Despite her newfound knowledge, Myra gave a one-shouldered shrug. "You ain't been bad to me."

Arthur gave a grunt of acknowledgement. "Comin' on your property and shootin' folks ain't exactly nice."

"You probably saved my life, Arthur. Among other things. The gangs that live out in these hills, they… well, they ain't nice. Been a lot of woman hurt up yonder." Myra shuddered at the stories townsfolk told. Stories of young women, kidnapped and violated by rogue outlaws and criminals. The mountains surrounding Big Valley could be treacherous, and they provided perfect cover for the unruly folk which abounded the territory.

"It wasn't nothin'. Now come on. I best be on my way." Arthur waved a hand towards the barn, and Myra nodded.

"Let's, uh, get that Stallion. He ran off towards the barn." Myra whistled loudly, and the thunder of hoofbeats reached their eyes shortly after. Her hands were still quivering and her breaths shaky, but she didn't want Arthur to know. Hell, the man was an outlaw. He spent his time killing (probably), robbing (most likely), and beating (maybe?) people as a means for survival. Myra felt that her fear was irrational, and tried to shovel some calm and coolness on top to hide it.

"It ain't bad to be scared." Could the man read minds as well?

Myra turned to him with a suspicious look in her eye. "Are you a psychic outlaw?"

Arthur chuckled, just as the speckled gelding came back into view. "Not quite. Ain't blind, though."

Myra sighed. "I know. It's just… the world ain't friendly. I always wanna go places and wanna see what's around, but the people frighten me."

Arthur watched some of the vibrancy drain from her blue eyes as she spoke. Something in her reminded him of himself as a boy. Always so adventurous but scared of the lingering threats. He was unable to quell the fear until Dutch and Hosea had taken him in and shown him the freedom possible if you were at the top of the totem pole. It saddened him to know that someone so close to his own age, with so much spunk and excitement, was scared of the world around her.

"Because of people like me." He had not intended to speak the words aloud, but it came out against his will. As if on cue, the stallion which had spooked earlied trotted back up to the pair.

Myra reached a hand out and caught the reins, turning towards Arthur. "Nah. You're the kind of person I'd want to explore with. Someone who isn't afraid of nothin'. Who would appreciate it."

Arthur was momentarily paralyzed. His thoughts flashed back to Mary, who had no desire to do such things. She wanted to settle, and start a family. He wanted to travel. See the west and the north. Hunt and fish (though he was terribly poor at it) all around the country. Avoid the eastern side, maybe, but he wanted to _go._ Dutch had given him that opportunity when he was only fifteen. He had seen mountains and lakes, towering redwoods and dry desert ground.

Myra watched Arthur seem to vanish into his thoughts for a moment. She was surprised at how poorly he thought of himself. He had just saved her life not ten minutes ago, and here he was reprimanding himself about being a good man. If she put the robbing and killing aside, Myra was intrigued by his life. She could only imagine the possibility around them. She had never been out of West Elizabeth, and couldn't even fathom the other landscapes. Myra had read about open plains and sagebrush in the New Hanover Heartlands. The towering mountains of Ambarino that would make Big Valley look like a measly hill were legendary when she was a child.

"Why don't you go?" Arthur asked as they walked back towards the barn. He was surprised that no one had seemed to respond to the gunfire. He imagined the decline the pasture took prevented the sound from traveling far, and the wind was whipping something fierce. He patted the stallion's neck gently, smiling as it nuzzled his face.

"It ain't that easy. I ain't got money, really. I live here free of charge and tend to the animals. Never fancied havin' a husband and family really, so money is hard to come by on my lonesome. The work women do in towns tends to be far from moral. I can pour a drink with the best of 'em, but ain't nobody hirin' a woman bartender." Myra gave a cheeky smile at the end of her rant.

"Somehow, I don't doubt that." Arthur laughed.

When they entered the barn, Boadicea whinnied at her owner happily. He stroked her head through over the door. "Hey girl."

It was going to be a task, getting the new horse and his old girl back to camp. Myra looked at the thoroughbred lovingly, allowing her to sniff her fingers. "I do love her personality."

Arthur looked to Myra. It would be a chore if both horses were to come back with him, but he felt something click at the thought of Myra riding Boadicea out through the long pastures and lavender that covered the valley.

"Ain't no pressure, but, uh, if you wanna keep her here for a bit 'til I get this feller settled, I think she'd-"

"Yes! Absolutely! I've always wanted a thoroughbred. They're gorgeous!" Myra clapped a hand onto Arthur's upper arm. "Thank you! I'll take great care of her."

Myra's excitement momentarily consumed her senses, making her oblivious to the pitter-patter of footsteps down the walkway. Arthur tilted his head at the sound, blue eyes hardening. He was still a bit ramped up from their confrontation with the two outlaws behind the pasture.

"Myra?" Jessie called, turning the corner and spotting the pair. She cast a glance at Myra's hand on Arthur's arm and narrowed her eyes. "Who's this?"

Myra dropped her hand, and Arthur took a step back. The stallion which Myra had mentally been calling freckles even huffed comically.

"Jessie! This is Mr. Morgan. I met him in town a while back and told him if he was ever in the market for another horse to come on up." Myra scratched the back of her neck awkwardly, trying to to reveal too much detail. Jessie would run screaming back to their Ma and Pa if she knew Arthur's occupation.

"Alright. Well, we heard some noise from the end of the pasture and Pa wanted me to check in. Everything alright?" Jessie adjusted her skirt, reaching a bored hand out to pet one of the chestnut quarter horses housed in the barn.

"It's fine, Jessie. There was a bear at the end again. Mr. Morgan fired off a couple rounds to scare 'er off is all. I ain't got my pistol." Myra explained, gathering a pile of hay to give Boadicea.

Jessie acted as if she accepted the story, taking a step forward to admire Arthur's jet black mare. "Is that a thoroughbred?"

Arthur nodded. "Yes, Ma'am. Nice to meet you, by the way."

"You as well, Mr. Morgan." Jessie gave Boadicea a quick scratch, eliciting an irritated whine from the stallion Arthur was holding on to. Jessie reached up and gave him a quick pat. "No, I ain't forgot about you. But you best be good for your new rider, yeah?"

Arthur smiled at the younger woman, and shot a smile of thanks to Myra for covering his ass. For someone who lived an honest life, she was a hell of a liar.

"What's Pa doin'?" Myra asked, trying to break the awkward atmosphere which had settled on them.

"Still messin' with the godforsaken well. It ain't reelin' right and Momma's havin' a fit." Jessie answered as she turned to walk out of the barn. She turned a bright smile on Arthur. "I'll get papers together for him. I can meet you on your way out."

"Thank you." Arthur dipped his head, allowing Myra to stable the speckled stallion when she finished up getting Boadicea some food.

"He can stay in here 'til she's got stuff ready. Throw your tack over his door, that way he gets used to the smell." Myra instructed.

After they had arranged the horses, Myra waited for him at the barn door. "Thanks again, Arthur. If I would'a been alone in that pasture one day it probably wouldn't have ended well."

Another tip of his hat and a smile was all the thanks Myra needed. She gave him a wide smile, leaning against the wall just inside the barn. "Just how much have you seen?"

Arthur held up a pack of cigarettes quickly as if asking permission. Myra nodded and he quickly lit one, breathing in the smoke and tobacco greedily.

"Quite a bit. Been all over the west. Parts of the north but not all of it. Been to New Austin, New Hanover, parts of Ambarino." He looked to Myra as he lowered his cigarette. "You?"

She shrugged. "Ain't never been out of the state."

As he took another drag, something that felt a whole hell of a lot like pity crashed over him. This girl was so spirited and bright. And she had never been out of the state. From the way she talked, she probably hadn't been far from the ranch. Arthur had some inkling of desire to toss her on the back of his horse and show her the countryside, from Armadillo's cactus-covered desert to the plains covered in sagebrush in New Hanover. Maybe this girl could make him feel something, and make him excited to travel the country once again. Hosea and Dutch had seen it all- Arthur was the only one willing to explore new places anymore.

"Come with me." For the second time that day, words tumbled out of Arthur's mouth as if his lips weren't on tight enough.

Myra's whole body froze, and she turned to the impossibly tall outlaw. "I'm sorry?"

Arthur turned to her. He was calm, not smiling but not frowning. Just… calm. "I'll show ya. The plains and the mountains. All the rivers and lake an' everythin' you wanna see."

Myra was dumbstruck. The man before her, cigarette dangling from his mouth and silver spurs crossed casually at the heel, was everything she had been warned to avoid in life. Rough outlaws and criminals. He hadn't detailed to her the seriousness of any schemes he'd been involved in, but things were starting to click as they spoke more and more. Arthur's mysterious life was terrifying. Myra was aware of the bounties on gang member's heads, and even lone outlaws who still defied the rules laid down by the federal government.

Did Arthur have a bounty?

 _It doesn't matter._ A voice deep in her subconscious was screaming. It was the same voice which spoke of western sunsets and turquoise jewelry. Pearl-handled revolvers and custom-made gun belts. Things Myra would never get by staying at the ranch. Endless rides across the plains and freedom swift as an eagle's flight. It all sounded mighty tempting.

Though there was her responsibilities. To her father, to the horses and Jessie. Everything around her which made her what she was. She had grown up on the ranch. Hell, she'd seen half the horses there born, and would most likely watch half of them die when the time came.

"Arthur, I..." Myra stood from the wall. "I can't just up and leave, I mean, I just, I have too much here."

Arthur mashed his cigarette butt beneath his boot. The little red embers bounced away, Myra's blue gaze fixated on them. He still didn't look mad. If anything, the look in his eyes was lonely. Pitiful even, but Myra was not looking there. She was locked onto his boots.

"I know." Arthur hummed lowly. "I guess I better be on my way."

Myra hesitantly met his eye, a short nod following. "Yeah. Jessie'll have papers for you at the house. I'll get 'im tacked up for you."

Arthur grabbed one of her hands before she could get too far. "I ain't gonna forget you, Myra. One of the smartest women I ever did meet."

She blushed. "Thank you, Arthur. For everything. Really."

Arthur released her, spurs making a faint ' _ka-chink_ ' as he exited the barn. Myra just then notice her hands were quivering, and she pulled the limbs to her chest.

"Damn you, cowboy."


	9. Chapter 9- Wild West (Part 4 of 4)

_**Chapter 9: Wild West**_

 _ **Part 4 of 4:**_ ' _Ride me off in the sunset'._

* * *

"I see you made that sale today, Myra. Trade for a nice thoroughbred mare, you did." Carson applauded his daughter at supper the next day. Myra had failed to tell her father that the real reason she didn't charge Arthur for the stallion was due to his saving of her life, but she figured it was better left unsaid.

"She's a great mare. Mr. Morgan will really take care of Freckles, I reckon. Boadicea is in great shape. Just a bit worn down, I think." Myra told her father. She swirled a spoon through her now-empty bowl, idly clinking the metal together.

"What does that man do for a livin'?" Jessie asked.

"He's an oil-man." Carson told her. "Says he's got some wells to look into."

Jessie furrowed her brow. "Oh. I thought he was a bounty-hunter or somethin'."

Myra tensed at the statement, spoon halting suddenly.

"He was a bit rough-lookin'." Jane agreed. "But that ain't none of our business."

Myra let out an awkward laugh, not able to take the pressure anymore. "He uh, asked me if I wanted a job."

The table went quiet. Myra knew that really wasn't what he'd said, but it was a direct interpretation of what he had told her. She was aware there would be work involved, but it sure as hell wasn't oil work.

"Excuse me?" Carson motioned for her to elaborate. He obviously thought it was something scandalous.

"Nothin' like that, Pa. He's looking for people to tend to the horses and keep records. You know, women stuff." Myra muttered.

"As much as I'd love for you to get out and see more, Myra, that man was a bit rough around the edges. I'm not sure I believe the whole oil man ploy." Jane spoke up, knowing she had more ability to talk something into Myra than Carson.

"I just thought, you know. I really want to see Ambarino and New Hanover. Places I ain't seen before." Myra stood from the table as heat began rising to her cheeks.

"More like someone's got a crush on the handsome cowboy who drifts around West Elizabeth." Jessie muttered.

Myra scoffed. Arthur was handsome but it was _not_ his good looks that she wanted to follow. It was his spirit and his energy. Sure, he was handsome (that didn't hurt), but Myra just wanted to go. To be someone. To see something.

"Do not!" She cuffed Jessie over the head as she set her empty bowl near the wash basin. "I'm goin' to finish chores."

Grabbing a lantern from the porch, Myra put on her overcoat and headed to the barn. The mares always got fed at night, and she had to take a break to eat supper. It was a chilly walk to the building, and Myra tugged her coat tighter, closing her eyes and pretending she was on a cliffside in Ambarino.

Ever since he had left, Myra couldn't keep Arthur's words out of her head. His offer to run from her life and see the world was at the forefront of her mind, even after their little shootout in the pasture.

Myra paced straight to Boadicea's stall, the mare rewarding her with a whinny and a huff of breath. "Hey, sweetie. Bet you miss your Dad, huh?"

The mare, as if answering her question, tossed her head to the left. Something white caught Myra's eye as she did so, and the woman leaned over the stall door to look. There was a hollowed-out spot in the wood of the barn, holding a white item which looked like parchment. Myra slowly opened the door, running a hand down Boadicea's side as she did. Once her hand found the object, she confirmed it to be parchment and withdrew the paper from its hiding spot. It was folded over itself several times, and Myra set to work unfolding it. Graphite smeared her fingers as it opened, and she squinted at the sheet.

There was a drawing of a woman from behind, holding onto the reins of a horse that looked suspiciously like Spice while they gazed over a huge valley. They looked to be standing on a mountain side, with snowcapped peaks visible in the distance. It was a detailed drawing, signed with two letters in the top right corner.

' _A.M.'_

Myra leaned against the stall wall, hand coming up to rub at her face. Arthur had been back sometime in the past day. He had snuck in and gifted her this drawing without a word. Myra was impressed by the detail and likenesses Arthur had drawn of her and Colt, lost in the false world of the drawing for a moment. She stared for a few moments and realized just how much she actually wanted to be there.

The paper fluttered from her grasp as Myra stood straight, forcing her to grasp at it. She hustled out of the stall and down the aisle ways, feeding horse after horse after beginning with Boadicea. The drawing was stuffed into her back pocket , crinkling with every step. Her mind was racing.

' _Go'._

It was as simple as that. Go. But she had no idea where Arthur was.

' _He can't be far.'_

Myra had only met the man twice!

' _He's a good man.'_

An outlaw.

' _An explorer. An adventurer. With various sources of income.'_

"Oh Lord, help me."

* * *

The drawing Arthur had left was back in the barn, tacked to a wall by one of the nails. Myra had scribbled a message down for each member of her family on it, tears in her eyes. But this was right. She felt it. Knew it, deep down. A sense of freedom was already coursing through her veins, and Myra wasn't even an hour from home.

Due to such close range, Myra was thankful for Boadicea's silence as she galloped out the back edge of her family's ranch. The mare responded happily to her commands, neighing into the dark night as they raced across the valley. Myra spurred the horse on towards Strawberry, the first place she would look. Her heart was pumping fast, adrenaline racing.

"Good girl! Come on!"

It took Myra a short time to reach Valentine on such a fast horse. She hitched Boadicea outside the hotel, scanning the other posts for any sign of Freckles. No horses even resembled him, and Myra felt her stomach drop. She leapt off her mount, running into the hotel. She was clad in trousers and a lavender-colored shirt from the workday still, catching a couple sideways glances as she approached the clerk. Luckily, it was not someone she recognized. The hotel had fallen into new ownership recently, and hopefully that would play in her favor.

"Hello, Sir. I'm lookin' for a friend. Tall man? Riding an appy stallion?" She asked, batting her eyelashes.

"Burly-lookin' fella? He left just before dusk, I'm afraid you've missed him."

Myra curse under her breath and made her way back out. She mounted Boadicea and headed towards the rode which ran south out of town. The mare seemed to have a mind of her own, acting like she knew exactly where they were headed. It was another two hours before the riding stopped and horse came to a jarring halt. They had already crossed the Upper Montana, and were nearing on Blackwater. Myra couldn't help but wonder what her parents were thinking in that moment. Jessie, she knew would understand, but her parents not so much.

"What is it, girl?" Myra patted the horse's neck, suddenly feeling rather vulnerable. She had no weapons except the dull blade hooked into her saddle and an old bow which had been hanging in the barn. The cover of darkness gave her both a sense of comfort and anxiety at the same time.

Boadicea cut off of the trail to their right, trampling over dry ground and scrub brush until the sight of a fire was visible about a hundred yards out. The occupant's back was towards her, and Myra gently nudged the mare one. She just prayed that if it wasn't Arthur they'd hold some sympathy for a lone woman. As they neared, the figure began to look more and more similar to her friend, and Myra had a giddy feeling suddenly over take her. The shape of a horse became clear on across the way, but it was too dark to see color.

He must have heard the hoof beats, and spoke without moving. "Whatever you want ain't worth it."

The tone was flat and threatening. The same voice he'd used when he warned the bandits behind her house to leave. Myra barely held back an ecstatic laugh as she leapt from the saddle.

"Well that's a damn shame, cause I'm pretty broke at the moment."

Arthur stopped moving, the ties on his hat blowing softly in the breeze. He slowly stood, turning to look at the petite woman who stood so close yet so far behind him. She was everything he'd pictured, from the wild hair to the boots and spurs. Her eyes gleamed in the firelight, and Arthur couldn't help the sideways grin on his face.

"Well I'll be damned."

Myra was not sure what came over her when she found herself hugging the outlaw to her tightly. He returned the embrace, allowing her look up at him with a smile.

"I'm sorry. I, uh, still don't know exactly what I'm doin', but I'm here, so that must be somethin'." Myra stepped back from him.

"It certainly is. But come on. If you made it here already, we need to move. Get somewhere ain't no one gonna follow us." Arthur told her.

"I left a note. I hope they don't. I'm hopin' they understand why I ran off with the driftin' cowboy." Myra punched his shoulder gently, and Arthur smiled.

"Well then. Settle in. I'll pitch another tent."

Myra held up a hand, shaking her head. "No. Thanks, but I think I wanna sleep under the stars tonight."

There was so much Myra didn't know about this cowboy, but something about him was alluring and fascinating. The way he grinned when she arrived and the way he mutely agreed to sleep underneath the open night sky.

When she was settled and her heart calmed down, Myra laid on her back in the middle of the desert ground. Her blue eyes were cast towards the heavens, watching the clear sky above. It was chilly, but her coat sufficed that night. Arthur listened to her chatter about mountains and valleys, and about everything she wanted to see.

"I suppose next you'll be wantin' ride alongside trains and leap over the tracks." Arthur teased from a few feet away where he sat propped against a large rock. His long legs were lean and fit, and he wore a pair of brown leather chinks over dark jeans. Myra couldn't help but admire the look.

"Nah." That seemed to be one of her favorite phrases.

Arthur chuckled, and it was like music to her ears.

"Thinkin' about it, however, I might settle for ridin' off into the sunset."


	10. Chapter 10- Deep Shit

_Short and sweet. Inspired by the occasional and hilarious cut scenes of the gang breaking Arthur and/or John out of jail throughout RDR2_

* * *

 _ **Chapter 10**_

* * *

"Pardon the language, but you're in deep shit ma'am."

Myra laid with a wide-brim hat laid over her face. She was face-up, lying on the metal cot of a jail cell. That was, if Strawberry's 'jail' could even be considered a jail. Her parents would be so proud.

"I told you already, that man was tryin' some funny stuff in the saloon. Fate was just on my side when my horse trampled him." Myra's blue gaze slid over to the scrawny deputy, and she gave a sweet, innocent smile to go with it. "Can't I just pay your sweet self and scoot on outta here?"

"Well I'm afraid fate ain't got nothin' to do with it, Miss. I ain't allowed to let you out just payin' a bounty on a murder charge. That's a decision for the Sheriff." The deputy told her, pacing back and forth on lanky limbs. Myra paled.

She knew her face, along with most of the gangs', were sometimes recognized by Sheriffs. Normally it was easy enough to escape if they were buddied up, but Myra had ridden alone into Strawberry. She had been headed to the general store for carrots when the smell of dinner enticed her into the saloon. And, well, after that everything was just a downward spiral.

"When's he gonna be back?" Myra sat up, putting on her best sad face.

"Dawn." The deputy cleared his throat. "So, you be stayin' put for a while."

She huffed a sigh, turning it into a false sob at the end. "Lord, the boys'll be so worried."

"You got kids, ma'am?"

Myra thought of Arthur's childish habits and snorted. "Somethin' like that. They gonna be wonderin' where I'm at."

"Where you from?"

Myra sniffled, mentally kicking herself for the terrible fake sound. "Does it even matter? I ain't never gonna be able to go back." She changed from sniffling to fake-crying, holding her hands flush against her face to conceal the dry skin behind it.

The deputy stood, and Myra smirked beneath her hands. She slowly met him on the opposite side of the iron bars. Crying women always made men uncomfortable. He stood idly outside the bars, looking awfully nervous. "With all due respect, you killed someone. Gotta let it go through the proper channels of law."

When he grew close enough, Myra shot a hand through the bars and latched onto his belt. Her grip prevented the man from gripping his pistol, but he flailed like a bird tangled in a net.

"Get off'a me, woman! You gonna hang for this!" He tried to fight her off, but Myra refused to release her grip.

"Just let me outta here, you son'uva bitch!" She growled, thrusting the other hand through the bars towards the keys on his far hip.

"I ain't that dumb!" The man jerked back as far as he could with Myra's fingers curled into his belt. She leaned forward.

"Now give me a kiss, huh?" She laughed at the deputy's shocked expression.

Myra was enjoying making the skinny man struggle, and his surprise at her teasing was even funnier. She was almost successful in grabbing the keys when there was a knock on the door. Myra paused, thinking over the possibilities.

It was only seconds later, as she was thinking, the door swung open. The figure occupying the doorway was familiar, and Myra smiled. Arthur took in her position with the deputy and raised his brows. The majority of his face was concealed under a black bandanna, but the humor in his eyes was evident.

"You know, normally when ya dance you're both out of jail."

Myra scoffed, releasing the man with a shove. He immediately went for his gun but there was a revolver pointed directly between his eyes before he could move. The deputy put his hands up, looking very small beside Arthur's bear-like build.

"Don't even try." Arthur motioned with his pistol at the door. "Open it and let her out."

"Y'all are the scum of this world." The deputy accused, grudgingly releasing his keys and unlocking Myra's cell.

The blonde stepped out, twirling around to gracefully remove the deputy's pistol. She then shoved him into the cell and swung the door shut. "Sorry honey. You gonna have to wait for the Sheriff."

Myra looked at Arthur, who was gazing at her from under the brim of his hat. His eyes were ablaze with something a bit more tender but just as passionate as anger. She walked up, ignoring the deputy's eyes, and tugged his bandanna down enough so she could kiss him. It was brief and clean, but sure to make the man occupying her former cell uncomfortable. She discarded the pistol in her hand on the Sheriff's desk, pressing into Arthur's warmth until she felt satisfied.

"You ready?" Arthur asked, yanking his bandanna back up as she stepped away from him. Myra hunted around the office until she found her gun belt and personal items. She stowed everything back in its rightful place.

"Lead the way, Cowboy." Myra snuck under Arthur's arm, and the outlaw smiled underneath his mask. He pressed his covered lips to her temple, laughing lowly all the way.

"You're a real piece'a work, you know that, woman?"


End file.
